


Damn Dreams

by Delirious21



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Fluff, M/M, Mech Preg (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 18:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Optimus Prime just can't shake the reocurring dreams that give him everything he wants, then yanks it away just as wakes up. Ratchet, at least, is always there when he wakes.(Cute fluff and sweetness between two of my favs. Enjoy!)





	Damn Dreams

“I’m home.” A mech, always shadowed, so far away, hovered in the kitchen doorway. His field exuded confidence and pride, forever watching over his family. “How was your day?”

“Exciting.” Orion chuckled. He glanced up from the datapad in his lap, taking in the same crowded apartment, with its fading white walls and minimalistic furnishings, the blue and white femmeling curled next to him on the couch. The swell of his stomach, holding a furious little bitlit, was sore but he’d endured worse. “We went to the Hall of Records.”

The mech, his face smudged and frame a flickering mess of static, smiled. “She like it?” He floated closer, just enough to cup Orion’s face in one servo. 

Leaning into the touch, Orion nodded. “Loved it. I had to explain that it wasn’t like the library, and she was so upset she couldn’t bring anything home.”

“So you took her to the library?”

“You know me too well.”

The mech leaned over to press a kiss to Orion’s helm. “You are my Conjunx, after all.”

Optimus lurched out of the dream, arms flailing, one fist striking something solid. He reeled his limbs in when the resounding ‘crack’ was followed by a “Damnit, Optimus!” Swinging his legs over the edge of the berth, he attempted to rub the exhaustion and his dream away. There was a cautious servo on his arm, and he knew Ratchet was talking, but all he could focus on was the feeling of content that lingered in him. 

He knew happiness, unadulterated, unhindered by eons of war. He recognized it in his dreams, the warmth engulfing his spark, the pressure of a loved one in his arms. In his dreams, he reverted to Orion Pax, the young and curious archivist with a spark forged for peace and tranquility. He relinquished the break from Prime, however brief it may have been. But, returning to reality was made ever more difficult when he was leaving behind his literal and hypothetical dream. 

Ratchet rubbed slow circles over Optimus’ arms and back; at some point he’d climbed onto the berth and assumed position behind him. “You back to me yet, big guy?” he whispered, hot breath brushing over Optimus’ audials. 

“I— yes, Ratchet.” He was stiffer than usual, frame aching in odd places; the base of his thumb, his spark chamber, even his head was pounding. 

“Good,” Ratchet rumbled. He paused, slowing his tedious touches. “I thought you were done with the rough mornings. . .”

Optimus knew it was more of a question, a concern, than a statement. It had taken a number of sleeping exercises and the memorizing of multiple breathing techniques, but the dreams started to fade, and his habit of lashing out when they finished, withered. Optimus keened into Ratchet’s kneading servos on his spine. 

“I apologize,” he muttered. 

Another pause. “Was it the same dream?”

“It changed. I— Orion took the femmeling to the Iacon Hall of Records.” He sighed, knots of tension coming undone under Ratchet’s practiced servos. “She was so warm, curled against my leg. I. . .”

Ratchet hummed. “You what?”

“I wanted to touch her, to know what it felt like to stroke her tiny frame. She is. . .” Optimus was no fan of being overwhelmed by his emotions, and he cringed as he choked down a sob. His voice sounded broken, warbled. Weak. “She is so small, Ratchet. So precious and innocent, and—”

A pair of lips on his neck stopped him. “Optimus, I’m sorry.”

“It is not your fault that my processor betrays me,” Optimus whispered. 

Ratchet’s arms pulled tight around his middle, warm and soothing. 

“I love you, Optimus Prime,” he said. “And one day, when Cybertron has been rebuilt and peace is restored, I will make your dreams a reality.” He nuzzled into Optimus’ back, against the soft mesh between his shoulder blades. 

“I love you, Ratchet, my Conjunx Endura.”


End file.
